


Waiting for a Ghost

by madamehomesecretary



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-20 03:23:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19368916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamehomesecretary/pseuds/madamehomesecretary
Summary: David is willing to risk it all when he receives a mysterious postcard in the mail on the anniversary of Julia's "death."Is he right to hold onto hope? Or is he just waiting for a ghost?





	1. Someone You Loved

**Author's Note:**

> We all know what happens when I hear a song that reminds me of David and Julia. This was the case for Lewis Capaldi's "Someone You Loved." It should come as no surprise that this one shot spiraled into something more. It always seems to be the case with these two. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy. I'd love to hear your feedback! And if you're really into self-torture (like I am), you can always listen to the song while you read. It's rather painful. But it'll hopefully get better. ;)

**** The clock ticking on the wall was the only sound that filled the room as Police Sergeant David Budd sat on the couch in his dreary, undecorated flat. The bright light coming off the muted television set in the center of the living room gave an eerie blue glow to the room.

David couldn’t listen to them talk about  _ her  _ again _. She  _ was all that had dominated the news coverage for the last 24 hours. But he found himself unable to look away as a picture of the Right Honorable Julia Montague appeared in the corner of the screen. Taking in her appearance, he bit his bottom lip so hard he thought he might draw blood. Battling the demons currently at war inside of him, he reached for the remote as a clip of her speech at St. Matthew’s played out on the screen. 

Neither of them had any idea in those final moments that they were waiting for a ticking time bomb -- quite literally -- to go off. Hearing her voice again always set something off in him, and he fought hard against the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He took in the details of Julia: what she was wearing, the way she carried herself as she entered the room, the little smile she gave as she approached the podium. Most would guess that was as much of a smile as you could get out of Julia Montague. 

But they hadn’t seen her under a layer of soft white linen sheets at the Blackwood Hotel. Her hazel eyes had been warm as they looked into his own and she gave him a genuine smile. Probably the first he had seen since he started working for her a few weeks earlier. No,  _ that _ was Julia Elizabeth Montague.  _ His _ Julia. 

As he continued to watch the speech play out on television, he scoffed when he realized he could almost repeat the words himself at this point. On those days when he didn’t know what else to do, he had found himself looking up her speeches and interviews. He would watch as she cunningly tried to sway the opposition or as she fought passionately in halls of parliament to make her voice heard. He found himself watching her, listening to her, until his vision blurred or he drank himself to sleep. Whichever came first.

He realized as it continued to play, that the news anchors must be playing the entirety of her speech. Well, what speech there was before the explosion. It seemed a fitting tribute to Julia only days before the one year anniversary of the bombing. After the initial shock of the attack seemed to quell, political pundits and the media began to examine the words she had spoken before the blast. They were not words the home secretary would normally say. Openly criticizing Vosler and his team of buffoons could mean only one thing. She was going to be putting in a bid for Prime Minister, they all finally concurred. 

_ “... a sense of exclusion from the best opportunities this country has to offer. Law... medicine... journalism... politics…” _

David turned his attention back to the screen and watched as Julia paused slightly after each word. To the average viewer, she stopped speaking and glanced to her left only for a moment after the word ‘medicine’  before returning her attention back to the crowd. But instead, David saw her turning to look at him, their eyes meeting from across the room.  _ A deep connection.  _ She went on with her speech, and without David watching the screen, he could account for what was happening behind-the-scenes. His confrontation with Tahir. Reassuring Kim that all was well. Entering back into the auditorium. He felt his heart rate quicken as he steeled himself for what came next. 

He breathed a long sigh of relief when the video cut back to the anchors without showing the blast. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath. 

“Saturday will mark the one year anniversary of the bombing at St. Matthew’s College that claimed the lives of the Home Secretary Julia Montague and countless others,” the news anchor said solemnly. David reached for the remote and flicked the tv off in annoyance. 

The room dissolved into darkness as the television went black and David sighed. Leaning back into the couch, he pinched the bridge of his nose hard, his eyes squeezed shut. A year without her. It had gone quickly, in the blink of an eye, really. But it also seemed like just yesterday that he had been with her, in every sense of the word. 

No longer able to stand the silence in his flat, and feeling slightly mad because of the continuously ticking clock, David got to his feet and walked over to the desk in the corner of the room. With a quick flick of his wrist, he turned on the vintage radio set that in the middle of the space. It had been a gift from his father before he left for the Army. He had been through a lot with that radio. 

He didn’t recognize the final notes of the song that was playing, and he ambled into the kitchen only half-listening as he retrieved a beer from the fridge. Taking a long swig, he swallowed hard as he returned to the living room. The song had changed and the soft notes that came cross the airwaves caught his attention as a man’s voice filled the room. 

_ I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me _

_ This all or nothing really got a way of driving me crazy _

_ I need somebody to heal _

_ Somebody to know _

_ Somebody to have _

_ Somebody to hold _

_ It's easy to say _

_ But it's never the same _

_ I guess I kinda liked the way you numbed all the pain _

Listening to the words of the song, David sighed, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. It was a sort of weight he had been carrying for the better part of a year now. And tonight, the ghost of Julia was determined to not let him rest. He frowned. 

He thought about Julia often, and how he had let her down that day at St. Matthew’s. His therapist had told him time and time again that it wasn’t his fault. That he had followed protocol and taken all the necessary steps to check security for the event. 

_ But she’s still gone! _ He had cried out in anger more than once during his weekly sessions. He would give anything to have her back in his life. Even if that meant he was no longer allowed to have her in his arms. In the hours following the explosion, he had tried to use that as a bargaining chip with whoever it was in the universe that controlled these decisions. That he would give her up, if she was just allowed to live. And then she hadn’t. He lost all around. 

_ Now the day bleeds _

_ Into nightfall _

_ And you're not here _

_ To get me through it all _

_ I let my guard down _

_ And then you pulled the rug _

_ I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved _

He had never expected to fall in love with Julia Elizabeth Montague. He still remembered the day Lorraine Craddock gave him his assignment. To protect the home secretary. At all costs.  _ Like hell I will, _ he had thought, all while nodding to his superior. He looked up her voting record. Watched her talk about Afghanistan with Andrew Marr. He hated her. Or he wanted to. But there was something about her that drew him in. He was curious about her. What made her tick. She was an enigma to him. Her authority and position of power became something he admired her for. The way the energy in the room felt charged when she entered it. The same way he felt when she entered his orbit. 

_ Love _ . He huffed indignantly. He was never supposed to fall in love with her. And then, as he held her in his arms after Thornton Circus, as she let him see the most vulnerable side of her, something had happened.The cracks in her armor had opened to let him truly see her. The real her. And in that moment he realized, political affiliation be damned, he wanted to soothe her. Protect her. Love her. Be with her. 

_ I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to turn to _

_ This all or nothing way of loving got me sleeping without you _

_ Now, I need somebody to know _

_ Somebody to heal _

_ Somebody to have _

_ Just to know how it feels _

_ It's easy to say but it's never the same _

_ I guess I kinda liked the way you helped me escape _

Looking back at it now, he had no way of knowing if they ever would have made it. If they could have ever overcome their differences or the way they viewed life. But it seemed unfair to him they never even really got the chance. The ‘what ifs’ played in his mind all the time, and he knew that if Julia was here, she would admonish him for fixating on the past. But Julia wasn’t here. Despite being the first thing he thought of when he woke up in the morning, and the last thing he thought about before he closed his eyes at night, she was gone. 

Reaching for the radio dial, he flipped the station to something that sounded a bit more upbeat. Although he had to admit the damage was done. Draining the last of his beer, he returned to the kitchen to get another. He popped the cap off and it fell to the floor with a metallic clank. 

No, the ghost of Julia wasn’t done with him yet. 

_ Now the day bleeds into nightfall _

_ And you're not here to get me through it all _

_ I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug _

_ I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved _

The plain, unassuming envelope came in the post three days later. 365 days after St. Matthew’s, although it took him a moment to connect the dots. There was no return address, only his name and address scribbled across the middle of the paper. He didn’t recognize the handwriting, but something about the way it was addressed made him pause before opening it. _ P.S. David Budd.  _

Flipping the piece of mail over in his hands, he examined the envelope for any sort of clue about it’s sender. Seeing nothing, he tore into the envelope, his heart beating quickly in his chest. And then he thought his heart might have stopped. A single card with nothing but a lipstick print on it. 

He paled. He knew that lipstick. It seemed like a strange detail to know, but he did. It was in his job description to take note of details. To take note of  _ her _ . That that was the color of lipstick that Julia wore for her public appearances. It was darker than her every day color, but he knew it well. He had wiped that same smudged lipstick off his face many times behind closed doors at the Blackwood Hotel. 

Flipping the card over, he felt his knees go weak and he steeled himself to remain standing. An illustration of the Death Star was printed on the other side. 

_ “If I don’t come back, go to the Death Star.”  _

David heard the words as they echoed hollowly in his head.

_ “We were plotting to build the Death Star. How long is this going to take?” _

Sinking down slowly onto the couch in the middle of his flat, he turned the card over in his hands a few more times. Looking for anything he might have missed. There was nothing. He thought he might be sick as he stared at the lip print again, his finger tracing over the dried surface. 

This had to be a trick. It couldn’t be real. Julia was dead …  _ wasn’t she?  _ Standing again, he took the card into his room and tucked it into his dresser drawer under a collection of socks. No one could know about this. Not until he knew what it meant.

_ And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes _

_ I fall into your arms _

_ I'll be safe in your sound till I come back around _

A week later, a postcard arrived. The same scrawled handwriting adorned the back of the card, addressed to P.S. David Budd, and David felt his mouth go dry as he flipped it over. There was a picture of the Scottish countryside on the front of the card. He recognized a small white church in the foreground, located near one of the national parks in Glasgow he had frequented as a child. His heart started beating quickly as he looked around his flat, almost as if the answer would magically appear to him. 

Examining the postcard closer, he noticed a date and a time written in the corner in tiny numbers. The numbers were spaced out across the barcode and to the average person, they probably wouldn’t have even noticed the small detail. His eyes widened as his eyes went to his phone, double checking the date. The scheduled meeting was tomorrow _.  _

“Shit.”

Practically running to his bedroom, he grabbed a duffel bag out of his closet and shoved a few pairs of pants and some shirts into it. He didn’t know exactly where he was going, or how long he was going to be there, but nothing else mattered if he found Julia. 

He was halfway out the door when he paused and turned to go back into his apartment. Dropping his bag by the door, he went to his dresser and pulled the first card out of the drawer, folding it and tucking it into his pocket before he turned to leave again. 

Glancing over his shoulder at the front door and looking around the room, he felt the first semblance of hope that he had felt in a long time.  

_ For now, the day bleeds into nightfall _

_ And you're not here to get me through it all _

_ I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug _

_ I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved _

_ But now the day bleeds into nightfall _

_ And you're not here to get me through it all _

_ I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug _

_ I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved _

_ I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug _

_ I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved _

Fidgeting nervously in a window seat, David looked out over the landscape of Scotland. If this was real, Julia had literally been right under his nose for the better part of a year. He could count on both hands the number of times he had brought Ella and Charlie to visit his parents since the day of the explosion at St. Matthew’s. It was the only way he had been able to escape his grief. 

Taking a sip of the whiskey he had asked for, he gulped hard.  _ Liquid courage.  _ His mind was racing with the possibilities of what this trip could mean. He had thought over and over again about all the things he would say to Julia if he was given a chance. And now he couldn’t think of a single thing he would say when he saw her face. 

_ If _ he saw her face. 

All he knew was that if Julia really was alive, he was never letting her go again. 

_ I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved. _   
  



	2. Bruises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He found himself biting the inside of his cheek hard as he examined his watch for what had to be the tenth time since he had arrived. It was November 12. 373 days since he lost his Julia. The amount of time he had gone without her far outweighed the singular month they had spent together before her death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your kind words on Chapter 1 of this story. I hope this one lives up to all of your expectations. 
> 
> It was inspired by Lewis Capaldi’s song “Bruises.” (I love that whole album so much if you can’t tell.)

David sat in a pew in the back of a small white church, his leg bouncing nervously as he took in his surroundings. The windows. The altar. The railing of the wooden pew in front of him. He had never been particularly religious, but being in this church reminded him of his grandmother and the holidays he had spent with her here in Glasgow.

Loch Lomond National Park was just a stone’s throw away from where he currently sat, his stomach wound into a tight knot. He had spent many summers there as a boy with his Nan, exploring the Scottish countryside. Reflecting on it, he decided there was something ironic about being back here, and waiting for  _ her _ . It was like the two versions of his life trying to come together as one. 

The sun was beginning to set and it cast the tiny room in a sort of glowing haze. Looking down at his hands, he couldn’t help but notice the way the sunlight filtered in through the stained glass windows. His hands were painted in shades of red, yellow and orange. His eyes wandered to the cross hanging on the wall and he swallowed hard, unsure if he should even be here. But he had to come. He had to allow himself the tiniest glimmer of hope that it  _ could _ be true. 

He hadn’t let himself think about his reaction if Julia didn’t show up. Or if this had all been some sort of cruel trick. No, he wouldn’t put it past someone to try to pull one over on him like this. He wasn’t sure who would do it, but at this point, there were very few people he trusted. His therapist had encouraged him to try to see the good in people. To look at the world in a less harsh light. He had scoffed. 

_ “You mean the good in people that blew up the home secretary?” he retorted, and his therapist sighed heavily in response. _

As time passed after her death, David’s anger turned to agonizing grief.  He threw himself into tracking down who had killed Julia and how they had flown under his radar. Once Luke Aitkens and Lorraine Craddock had been arrested, the grief gave way to sadness and a bit of depression, too. He recognized the symptoms well, and knew it was then that he needed help. He couldn’t do this on his own. Julia had shown him that. But despite his therapy, he never knew what emotion he would feel as he rolled over each morning in his cold, lonely queen-sized bed. 

He had quickly realized he missed the warmth of her next to him most of all. It seemed ironic that there weren’t many people who would describe the Right Honorable Julia Montague as warm. But David knew better. He had seen the way her beautiful green eyes lit up when she laughed and the way they darkened with desire when she looked at him. There was the way her fingers fit perfectly in his, and the way her thumb traced his palm as she held his hand, intertwined with her own. The way her body curled into his, his arms wrapped tightly across her torso when he held her, kissing a path down her shoulder as she dozed in his embrace. No, the home secretary wasn’t seen as warm. But Julia? She was a different creature entirely when she was with him. 

He found himself biting the inside of his cheek hard as he examined his watch for what had to be the tenth time since he had arrived. It was November 12. 373 days since he lost  _ his _ Julia. The amount of time he had gone without her far outweighed the singular month they had spent together before her death. But did that really count when hers was the first face he saw when he woke in the morning and the last before he surrendered to the darkness of sleep at night?

He and Vicky hadn’t worked out. That was no surprise. They had attempted to give it a try after Julia’s death. It was what David thought he had wanted. Needed, even. For his family to be reunited and for it to be like what it used to be. He thought it would help after the bombing. But it hadn’t been enough. While spending more time with his children and building stronger relationships with them had been a welcome change, David was no longer Dave, the man that a teenage Vicky had once fallen in love with. No, they were better as co-parents who just wanted the best for Ella and Charlie. It had been a mutual decision.

Glancing at his watch again, he was starting to feel the sting of being stood up. She should have been there half an hour ago. If she was even coming.  _ If she was even really alive. _ He visibly shuddered at the thought. The sound of a door opening caused David’s heart to hammer in his chest as he whirled around, letting out a sigh as he was faced with an older, graying man. 

He tried hard to cover his disappointment, but wasn’t sure he was successful. The minister approached him slowly. 

“Can I help you with something, son?” He asked, and David couldn’t help it as the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk. The accent sounded like home. 

David shook his head quickly in response. 

“No. I’m just waiting,” he answered, gesturing vaguely with his hand at the empty pew beside him. 

“Waiting for someone … or something?” The man asked with a gentle smile and David shrugged. 

“I’m … actually not sure,” he said vaguely and the man nodded. 

“I see. Well, we’ll be locking up soon, but if I can be of assistance, let me know.” 

David frowned and nodded wordlessly.  _ Locking up.  _ She really wasn’t coming.

As the man turned to walk away, David spoke up.

“Thank you,” he called out after him and the man turned to look back at him, offering a bright smile. 

“I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” he said before turning and leaving the chapel, the door closing with a soft  _ swish _ behind him. 

“I do, too…” He murmured under his breath. His eyes traveled to the cross on the wall again and he shook his head. He shouldn’t be here. Julia Elizabeth Montague was dead. And he was a fool. A fool waiting for a ghost. Surely someone, somewhere was laughing at him.

Letting out a shaky breath, he stood, stretching his arms out in front of him again. He felt the sadness take over him. He was sure the anger would come eventually, but right now the disappointment felt heavy in his chest. He didn’t turn as he heard the door open again, his eyes fixed on the stained glass at the front of the church. The sun had finally set behind the hills and there was no longer a glow coming through the window. Only darkness. He let out a sardonic chuckle. That had to be a metaphor for something. Light and windows and darkness and silence. He realized the minister hadn’t said anything since he re-entered the chapel.  

“Did you forget something, sir?” He asked, letting out a grunt as he turned to face the old man, and instead found himself looking into the unsure eyes of the woman he had seen only in his head for the better part of a year now.

He felt his mouth go dry and he reached out to steady himself against the pew, feeling his heart constrict sharply in his chest.

“You’re here.” 

Her words were soft-spoken, almost strained, and it took David a minute to even register that she was speaking at all. He was lost in taking in every detail of the woman standing in front of him. He still wasn’t convinced she was really there.  _ Maybe I’ve finally gone over the edge,  _ he thought grimly. 

But when he heard her voice calling his name, though the uncertainty in it sounded foreign to his own ears, he knew she was really there. 

“Julia…” It was all he could say as his eyes traveled the length of her body, taking in every detail from her head to her toes. 

She was dressed casually, a side of the proper home secretary he had only been privy to behind closed doors. An oversized green cashmere sweater hung loosely from her body and David could tell her frame had become even smaller than the last time he had seen her. She was wearing jeans and sneakers, her hair pulled back into a low ponytail that fell in the middle of her back. Her hair had grown. A lot. She was wearing a baseball cap that came down low to hide her face and David resisted the urge to chuckle. Julia Montague in a baseball cap was something he thought he would  _ never _ see. 

She remained rooted to her spot by the door, a cane clutched tightly in her right hand for extra support. He felt his feet shuffling forward without even really realizing he was moving toward her. His steps were slow and tentative, fearful of what would happen if he moved too fast. 

Coming to stand in front of her, but leaving some space between them, he didn’t know where to look first. He took in the scars that had healed over on the right side of her face, some more prominent than others, and he resisted the strong urge to reach out and trace his fingers over them gently. 

When his gaze met hers, he realized that there were tears beginning to well in both of their eyes and he bit his lip so hard he thought he might draw blood. 

“Julia,” he repeated her name a second time, still having a hard time processing that she was even standing here in front of him again. He had come to Scotland to see her, but that didn’t mean he had been even remotely prepared for this reunion. “How… how are you here?” he finally mumbled, finding his voice as his eyes went back to take in her features again. 

She gave him a soft smile, brushing back a long curl that had come loose from behind her ear as her gaze moved briefly to the chapel behind him. She shook her head and tried to weigh the words in her head. She had rehearsed them over and over again on the ride there, but she suddenly couldn’t seem to find even the smallest bit of the well-organized speech she had prepared. Julia Montague spoke well. Growing up in a posh boarding school, taking etiquette lessons, she had learned the power that well-crafted words could hold. And now, standing here in a chapel across from her former personal protection officer, her mind felt like it was buzzing. 

David shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how, love,” he finally said, the pet name slipping from his lips without a second thought. “It just matters that you  _ are _ here.” He found his hand being drawn to her face, but he hesitated with it lingering in the air next to her cheek. He needed to feel her skin under his hand. It wouldn’t be real until he felt her cheek under the pads of his fingers. His eyes searched hers for permission of some sort; a sign of approval that it would be okay if he were to touch her. 

“You’re allowed to touch me,” she whispered, and her words and the memory that accompanied them finally caused the unshed tears to begin to fall. Her eyes moved from his face to his hand, which was still hovering. She thought she might have seen him trembling as she watched him, almost like he was frozen in place. 

“David?” she said again, this time her voice sounding much more like the Julia Montague that David remembered. It was enough to break him out of the moment and his hand reached out to stroke her cheek gently.

Julia closed her eyes at the sensation and let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It had been so long since anyone other than a doctor or surgeon had touched her. And for the first real touch to be  _ his _ ? It seemed sort of poetic. It reminded her of the first time they had made love at the Blackwood Hotel, the night of the Thornton Circus attack. The way David had wordlessly reached out to brush against her hand, bringing his to mingle with hers. Even just the touch of their fingers coming together had been fulfillment for an unspoken need. A need to be touched in such an intimate way without apology or explanation. 

Feeling his fingers skim across her jawline and move to her cheek and then her forehead, David couldn’t get enough of touching her. Opening her eyes again, Julia’s intense gaze met David’s steely stare. Once green met blue, it was like neither of them could look away, feeling a strong current of energy between them. He had moved closer to her in the moments since she closed her eyes, and she was surprised to find how close he was to her now. His fingers continued to ghost lightly over her face, taking in her eyebrows and running his thumb lightly down her nose. She couldn’t help but smile at the sensation. He hesitated again as he paused with his fingers suspended in mid-air over her lips. 

Julia was sure she had stopped breathing at some point during the intimate moment, although she wasn’t sure when. When he finally reached out, bringing his thumb to run lightly over her lips, she let herself relax into his touch. 

“Kiss me,” she murmured, the words soft against his roving thumb. His movement stilled, his eyes still peering into hers. He started to say something, and then stopped, not wanting to break whatever web was being weaved between them in that moment. Taking a step closer to her, his hand moving from her face to her shoulder, he pulled her into him gently, his other hand coming to rest on her hip. From her scarring, it seemed that her right side had been mostly uninjured in the blast. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the memory from his head. He could still feel the heat of the blast on his face as it catapulted him backwards, away from Julia, before everything went black. 

“Did you hear me, Sargeant Budd?” she asked with a small smirk, teasing him. 

David chuckled in return as he pulled the baseball cap from her head  

“Oh, I heard you, ma’am,” he replied quickly, pulling her flush against him as he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle at first, as they took their time to familiarize themselves with each other again. David smiled against her lips as the kiss grew more insistent and Julia’s hands came to tangle in his curls. 

A loud clang echoing through the chapel made them both jump in surprise as Julia’s cane hit the floor. They both burst into a fit of giggles at the small shriek of surprise that had escaped Julia’s lips, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he finally whispered into the silence and Julia looked up at him again, green eyes shimmering. 

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be here when I got here… there was traffic, and we got stuck for a while. You waited for me.” She spoke the last four words quietly, and David took in their double meaning.

He leaned forward again, capturing her lips with his again. This time, their kiss was more insistent and David felt himself growing warm at Julia’s touch. 

_ Ahem. _

David started at the sound of someone clearing their throat, and he pulled away, a different kind of warmth coming over him as he felt himself blush when he met the minister’s eyes. 

“I see you found what you were waiting for, son,” the man said with a knowing smile and David swallowed hard. He shuffled his feet, feeling as if he were being reprimanded for being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“I, um… we were just... on our way out,” David stammered, leaning over and picking up Julia’s cane off the floor. She tried -- and failed -- to hide the growing smirk on her face. 

The minister said nothing as he watched the couple turn to leave. 

As David offered her the cane, she wordlessly linked her arm through David’s with a soft smile. 

“I’d rather lean on you,” she whispered, moving slowly toward the doors of the church as he clasped her hand tightly in his own. Angling his body toward hers, he stopped only to place a kiss on her forehead before they began walking again. 

He had found what he had been waiting for, indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next (and final) chapter: 
> 
> The reporter readjusted herself in her chair sitting across from Julia, who eyed her with an air of apprehension. She had been hesitant to take her story public, but after all the rumors and false information that seemed to surround the circumstances of her “death,” David had finally convinced her to sit down with someone from The Times to get everything out into the open.


	3. Grace (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been almost a year since David and Julia reunited at that tiny church in Glasgow, and they had been practically inseparable ever since. After spending another couple of months working on her recovery, Julia had made the decision to return to London and claim what she figured was rightfully hers. Or at least attempt to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so much for your kind words about this story. You guys have seriously blown me away (too soon?) with your feedback. 
> 
> This is the last chapter, as I wanted to keep it short and simple. It’s my favorite chapter, I think. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think. ❤️

“Prime Minister, thank you for taking the time to speak with me today.”

The reporter readjusted herself in her chair sitting across from Julia, who eyed her with an air of apprehension. She had been hesitant to take her story public, but after all the rumors and false information that seemed to surround the circumstances of her “death,” David had finally convinced her to sit down with someone from The Times to get everything out into the open. 

Sitting beside her at the small, round table, David squeezed her hand discreetly under the table. Looking over at him, she smiled brightly, feeling his reassuring touch calming her nerves.

It had been almost a year since the two of them had reunited at that tiny church in Glasgow, and they had been practically inseparable ever since. After spending another couple of months working on her recovery, Julia had made the decision to return to London and claim what she figured was rightfully hers. Or at least attempt to. 

“Congratulations on your outstanding campaign during the special election, Prime Minister,” the reporter -- Julia thought she remembered her saying her name was Abigail -- said, scribbling something on the notepad in front of her. 

Turning her attention back to the blonde, Julia nodded. 

“Thank you, but please, call me Julia,” the words were kind, and a blush covered the young girl’s cheeks as she looked at the former home secretary in surprise. 

“Julia … okay,” she said before gathering her wits about her again. 

David watched the exchange with a grin. He wondered how many others would be surprised by the change in Julia since the bombing at St. Matthew’s. While he had quickly seen the kinder, more gentle side of Julia Montague, he knew the public at large had not been given the opportunity. And yet, she still won the special election by a landslide. They had moved into Number 10 together only a few weeks before, David stepping down as her PPO and standing beside her by choice. Was it conventional? No. Was it the perfect scenario for them right now? Absolutely. 

“Julia, is it true that you’re responsible for releasing the kompromat that forced former Prime Minister John Vosler to resign?” The reporter finally asked, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. 

David squeezed her hand again and watched as Julia’s professional veneer took over. 

“I believe we have Anne Sampson and the Metropolitan Police Service Counterterrorism Branch to thank for such an … _enlightening_ revelation,” Julia answered politely. David didn’t miss the clipped way she said Anne Sampson’s name and he cleared his throat, trying to cover a small chuckle that escaped. 

When Julia turned quickly to glare at him, he straightened in his chair and coughed once, taking a sip from a glass of water in front of him. 

“I would also like to thank my team at the Home Office for their valiant efforts to continue the work of protecting the country in my … absence.” 

The word felt funny in Julia’s mouth as she said it, but what else could she really call it? She knew she was opening herself up for scrutiny by bringing it up, but if this really was an interview to clear the air, so to speak, then it was something that needed to be discussed. 

“Now, Prime Minis - Julia…” Abigail caught herself. “The whole country is still speculating on what happened to you after the bombing at St. Matthew’s… Do you care to comment on the circumstances surrounding the incident and your return to parliament?” 

Julia felt David’s hand move to rest on her knee reassuringly as she thought over her words carefully. 

“I believe we should call the  _ incident _ at St. Matthew’s what it was. And that was an attack on our country and on our people,” Julia said after a moment. “ I would like to extend my deepest sympathies to the families that lost their loved ones during the attack.” 

“I am also deeply grateful for all members of the police and security service whose selfless actions prevented more casualties. Obviously there are specifics I’m not at liberty to go into for security reasons.”

She turned her attention to David for only a moment, offering him a smile before turning her attention back to the reporter. Abigail looked between the two of them curiously, making a note on her notepad before continuing. 

“After the explosion, it was reported that you had succumbed from your injuries,” the reporter said, looking down at her notes in front of her. “What was the series of events after that?”

Julia sighed heavily.

“I don’t remember the immediate details, but I’ve been told my team decided it would be best for my own safety … and also for the safety of the country, that I be moved immediately. They spoke at length about how important it was to keep my survival a secret, for fear of another attack.”

Abigail shook her head. “That must have been terrible for you, Julia. So, no one knew?” she asked, her eyes falling to David questioningly.

“No, no one could know. Not my mother, not my colleagues at the home office, not even my now _ -former _ PPO,” she said shrugging. “I picked a location where I was able to go into hiding and disappeared. My doctors reported that I had died. It was what had to be done as I recovered and rebuilt my strength.”

“And why Scotland?”

Julia smiled softly for the first time since beginning the interview. “I wanted somewhere that felt like home... “ she admitted somewhat shyly and David glanced at her in surprise. She had never told him that was how she had ended up in Glasgow. 

“I had heard David speak of the towns he grew up in, and it seemed like a lovely place,” she said, trying to sound off-handed about it. “And there, I was able to easily keep up with everything happening here in London, too. I was going to need to keep up with current events if I was expected to run for Prime Minister when I returned. That goal never changed.”

Abigail had caught Julia’s misstep as soon as she made it and looked between the two of them again. 

“And what, exactly, is the nature of the relationship between you and David -- Sargeant Budd -- now?” she asked, her pen coming to rest at the edge of her lips. 

Julia opened her mouth and shut it again, turning to David. 

When had offered to sit in on the interview with her, she had shut the idea down almost immediately. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a good idea. David was one of the few people who knew all the details of her time in hiding, so having the extra support made it seem like the topic was much safer. David looked at her, not sure what to say. Their relationship wasn’t a secret. They had been seen together in public many times, and speculation was running rampant about them in the news. But she knew that this was an on-record interview. The headlines would hit before morning. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod. 

“We’re dating,” he said.

“He’s my boyfriend,” she said at the same time.

They turned to each other, laughing, as Abigail looked on in amusement. “I see.” She scribbled something down and looked up at them with a smile. 

“And now that you’ve taken Number 10, what are your plans while you’re in office, Ms. Montague?” 

“I’m glad you asked that actually,” Julia said, her demeanor turning professional once again. David watched her in awe as she spoke of infrastructure and jobs, the economy, and national relations. She really was amazing. He knew he was the luckiest man in the world to call the Right Honorable Julia Montague, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, his.

  
  
  


“Was that strange for you?” David asked, pulling her feet into his lap as she stretched out on the sofa, a glass of white wine in her hand. The interview was over and they had settled in for the night. 

Julia looked at him inquisitively, arching a brow as her lips rested on the edge of her wine glass. 

“Was what strange?” she asked, taking a sip of chardonnay, her eyes never leaving his. 

“Referring to me as your boyfriend…” David said with a chuckle. “It felt strange to hear,” he admitted with a little shrug. 

“That’s what you are, aren’t you?” Julia asked, her confusion only growing. “What should I have said? My former personal protection officer that fell in bed and _in love_ with his principal?” Her tone was teasing and David smirked. 

“No!” he answered quickly. “But at this point in our lives … and after everything we’ve been through… you being my girlfriend and me being your boyfriend… it just seems  _ odd _ , don’t you think?”

Julia was thoughtful, looking into her wine glass as she swirled the liquid around slowly.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” she admitted honestly. She bit her lip nervously, chewing on it absentmindedly as she sat her wine glass down on the coffee table in front of them. Repositioning her body, so she sat with her knees tucked under herself, she leaned into David and he turned his body so that he was facing her.

“David … what are you saying?” she finally asked, when it became clear he was lost in thought. 

“I’m saying I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore, Julia.” He looked over at her and gave her a nervous smile as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a black velvet box. 

Julia’s eyes widened as her hand flew to her mouth as he popped the lid open, revealing a slim, twisted golden band with a pearl settled in the middle of it. She felt her heart hammering in her chest as she looked from David to the ring and then back to David. 

“I want to be your husband,” he said simply, his smile widening so much his cheeks began to instantly hurt. “Julia Elizabeth Montague, will you marry me?”

David’s throat was dry, but he couldn’t stop smiling as he waited for an answer. They had always said with them both having been married before they wanted a no-frills engagement and a simple wedding when the time came. It was always  _ when _ , and never _ if _ . And David had to admit, there was something he loved about bringing it all full circle. Here he was, proposing to the woman he loved on the same sofa where he first fell in love with her over two containers of greasy fish and chips in her flat. The furniture may have been at a different address now, but the sentiment remained the same. 

Julia’s eyes were on the ring again and David laughed. 

“Hello? Julia?” He was surprised to see that her eyes looked watery as she met his stare. 

“Where did you…?” she trailed off, the question going unspoken between them. 

“It was my mum’s,” he answered with a little smile and Julia felt her heart swell. She hadn’t had the chance to meet David’s mother before she passed away unexpectedly earlier that year, but somehow, she had known the answer before she asked the question. 

“Oh, David…” she whispered softly, as a single tear slid down her cheek before he wiped it away with his thumb. 

“She would want you to have it,” he said with a firm nod. 

Wordlessly extending her left hand out to him, she smiled brightly as he slid the ring onto her finger. David watched as she stared down at it and he thought he might cry, too. He blinked back the tears hard. 

“So… that’s a yes then?” He asked with a knowing smile and Julia let out a burst of laughter. 

“Yes, David Budd, I will absolutely marry you!” she said, matching his smile with one of her own. With that, she sprung forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as her lips went to his and they fell back onto the couch with a soft thud. 

David wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against him as they kissed, while his fingers ran through her hair. With his tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, slowly beginning to undo them one by one. An engagement was cause for celebration.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” she asked suddenly, pulling away with a groan. 

David looked at her bewildered as she sat up with a sigh. “What?” he asked in confusion. Her look of annoyance gave way to a smile. “I’m going to have to call The Times for them to issue a correction in my interview.” 

Both of them let out a chuckle as Julia’s lips returned to his.

“I love you, Mr. Budd,” she whispered between kisses. 

“And I love you, Mrs. Budd… well, almost.”

**Author's Note:**

> In the next chapter:
> 
> He tried hard to cover his disappointment, but wasn’t sure he was successful. The minister approached him slowly. 
> 
> “Can I help you with something, son?” He asked, and David couldn’t help it as the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk. The accent sounded like home. 
> 
> David shook his head quickly in response. 
> 
> “No. I’m just waiting,” he answered, gesturing vaguely with his hand at the empty pew beside him. 
> 
> “Waiting for someone … or something?” The man asked with a gentle smile and David shrugged. 
> 
> “I’m … actually not sure,” he said vaguely and the man nodded.


End file.
